Another instance, I lamented, of the exasperating fallacy that something can’t be made emotionally immediate if it’s located in the past – and Traviata turns on assumptions of a now archaic patriarchal power.

Cairns sidesteps the problem at Glyndebourne by suggesting a certain universality to the theme – young love eternally thwarted by old law – and keeping the contemporary ambience low key. I don’t care for Germont père’s letter being read in amplified voiceover and a few other touches miss the mark, but nobody takes their trousers off or shouts into their mobiles and for such good taste, much thanks.

Hildegard Bechtler’s sets are abstract in outline, with misty projections at their rear, and visually the show is rather drab and fuzzy – the party scenes don’t radiate much glamour, and there are no indications of social class or Violetta’s triste réputation. Her illness is left unspecific too: she faints rather than coughs.

But one of Verdi’s most lyrical scores is exquisitely conducted by Mark Elder. Scholars may question some of his unusual textual choices, but there can be no doubt of his mastery of the opera’s dramatic shape and instrumental palette, flawlessly rendered by the London Philharmonic. Even the most banal of accompaniments is made meaningful, with every phrase thoughtfully nuanced; the singers are supported, but the orchestration is honoured too – not least in ravishing accounts of the Preludes.

The alluring Venera Gimadieva, based at the Bolshoi, makes a most impressive Violetta, singing with a vibrant clarity that never wobbles, even at pianissimo – inevitably, she puts one in mind of Netrebko, but her musical discipline is superior. I only wish she had moved me, but she seemed too much at ease to suggest the character’s fragile, doomed isolation.

Michael Fabiano’s sharply suited Alfredo had a similar hard edge – every note was perfectly placed, but he looked like someone out of The Sopranos rather than a shy youth unmanned by first love. Tassis Christoyannis’ Germont père was beautifully sung, but blandly characterised. Magdalena Molendowska stood out among a variable supporting cast as a baneful Annina, operating spookily as Violetta’s alter and super ego.

It’s not the most viscerally moving Traviata, but it’s certainly a satisfyingly elegant one.